Chapter 10 #3
“Sloan,” she murmured. “I…no…I—” she broke off with a gasp.
His hand was between her thighs, his fingers stroking and thrusting.
Her words gave way to the vivid sensation.
She twisted to escape, and managed only to feel his touch with greater force.
Flames seemed to explode within her…where he touched, warming her, stirring her. ...
She tossed her head restlessly, trying to remember her protest, determined…on…
“No, Sloan, no, I’m not ready for this—”
Her eyes were closed, but she heard his whisper, husky and wry, against her earlobe. “My love, trust me. You’re ready.”
His hands were on her knees; her thighs were pushed apart. And she shrieked and dug her nails into his shoulders as he rose above her, impaling her with his sex. There was the slightest pain…almost as if it were the first time again. But it had been so long. So long…and yet…
God, that fire could burn so hotly, so brightly, so wildly…and feel so sweet. She didn’t want to feel so completely, to want, to ache…to feel the growing hunger.
She sobbed slightly, clinging to his shoulders, knowing that she couldn’t stop the wave engulfing him, engulfing her.
She held herself rigid, bracing against him, fighting the very honeyed sweetness that his every thrust, coming deeper and deeper into her, seemed to bring.
Her breath came in gasps. He sealed his lips over hers, stealing what little she had left.
Then his mouth formed over her breast again as he moved against her, and jagged shafts of lightning seemed to tear into her.
She tossed her head, straining against him.
She was scarcely aware of his muscles tensing at first. Then the hardness of his body was suddenly such a stiff constriction that she gasped against its raging force as he pressed into her and held…once, then again, and again…
And despite herself, she felt as if something shattered. Something hot, sweepingly liquid and yet crystalline, sending tiny slivers of exquisite sensation throughout her limbs, from the throbbing at the juncture of her thighs to her extremities...
He fell against her for a moment, then eased himself from her and to her side. She lay stunned and, somehow, furious with herself.
He could seduce her so easily, draw so very much from her with so little effort!
Oh, God, it was so easy for him!
His hand lay upon her rib cage. His fingers moved, just idly, underneath her breast. She suddenly couldn’t bear it. She clasped his hand and moved it away. “Must you? Even now?” she demanded, alarmed to realize that she was close to tears.
“What?”
“I—I—did what wives are supposed to do. Isn’t it enough, for now?”
She couldn’t look at him. She felt him staring at her, and she felt his confusion…and then his anger.
“Fine,” he said impatiently, after a moment. “Get angry at me every time you enjoy an—” He broke off and was silent for a moment, then leaned against her and whispered, “Excuse me. Surely, you took no willing part in this; you’ve been nothing but dutiful. But dutiful is certainly enough—for now.”
She winced, closing her eyes and pulling the blanket around her, wishing she could explain what she didn’t quite understand herself. Why was she so defensive?
She remained on the ground, the blanket around her, curled into a ball against the dying embers of the night’s warm fire. The sun, coming though the vent, was dazzling.
She heard Sloan rise and don his clothing. She still didn’t move. He left the tipi, and she still lay huddled on the ground.
He returned and then she heard a match strike, and she smelled the smoke and the delicious scent of coffee as the fire bounced back to life and the coffee heated.
Then her blanket was suddenly and rudely wrenched from her. “Get up. Get dressed,” he told her curtly. “Not the blue dress—something more appropriate for hard riding.”
She lay where she’d been, suddenly bereft of all cover. She closed her eyes tightly and remained there, shivering.
She opened her eyes. He still stood there, looking down at her now with a touch of amusement.
“Must I dress you as well?”
“No!”
She leaped to her feet, dismayed to realize that he was watching her.
She fumbled with her stockings and pantalettes as she stepped back into them, then quickly snatched up her chemise.
Half-clad then, she looked through the clothing Meggie had packed for her, finding a gray riding habit with a snug jacket and a heavy, voluminous skirt.
She sat to put on her shoes, and when she was done, she realized that Sloan was still watching her.
Much to her annoyance, he still seemed entertained.
“I was afraid you were going to topple into the fire...burn to death—rather than ask for help.”
“I didn’t need help—”
“No, not at all.”
“All right, so perhaps I needed help. Perhaps I shall always need help. I’ll be an inept cavalry wife because I really belong back East!”
“You belong with me, dear wife. Enduring any discomfort for the sake of your wedding vows! The coffee is hot,” he added.
She noted that he hadn’t poured her any.
She rose and poured her own coffee. Her hands were shaking, and she dropped the pot. She quickly leaned down to pick up the pot before all of the coffee spilled out; he did the same. Their heads crashed together, and she stumbled back dizzily.
“Perhaps I should pour,” he commented, rubbing his temple.
“I’m not going to be good at this at all.”
He handed her a cup of coffee. “You needn’t fret, my love. You’re proving to be good at all that really matters!”
“Oh!” she cried out, clenching her fists at her sides.
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“And it would have been a fine compliment—if I were, in truth, one of Loralee’s whores!”
He let out an oath of impatience. “All right, you’re only so-so. Is that better?”
She wanted to take a swing at him again, but he wasn’t going to allow it. He caught her, drawing her against him so that her arms were pinned.
She stared at him furiously. He smiled suddenly, and she flushed as she realized that he was growing aroused once again. She began to struggle against his hold.
“Stop! Be very still.”
“Sloan—”
“Shh!” he warned. “If you move away quickly once I let go, we’ll probably get out of here without working at improving our intimate relationship!” he murmured.
“Damn you, Sloan—”
“There are probably biscuits and jerky in the package Meggie packed in the saddlebags. Why don’t you see?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, indeed, Major, sir!” she responded without moving.
“Ah, that’s what I like! A cheerful coworker. An amiable, charming mate with whom I can go through life! Considering how damned independent you like to be, you will surely want to pull a little of the weight around here!”
“I’m not at all good at pulling weight.”
“We’ll have to see that you become so—through practice.”
He suddenly released her, slapping her lightly on the derriere.
“To work, cavalry wife.”
“Squaw!” she muttered.
“As you like it!”
She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him. But a flicker of guilt arose within her. He had made the fire last night and this morning, carried in the bedding and the saddlebags. He’d made the coffee.
Perhaps she could contribute.
But then again, she could also have spent the night in a comfortable bed...
With an army wife snoring beside her.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t owe him a thing. He had dragged her out quite rudely in the middle of the night. She wasn’t going to budge.
But she did.
She had to.
Because Sloan had solved the dilemma for her, getting the saddlebag himself, finding the package of food, then tossing it to her.
She caught it, reflexively.
She stared at him, simmering with anger, but then took out the linen bundle of food, untying the knot and indeed finding Meggie’s biscuits, chunks of cheese, and strips of jerky.
She kept the food on her lap and daintily tasted a bit of cheese.
“Do you mind?” he inquired.
“Pardon?” she asked innocently.
“Sharing, my love. Hand it over!”
“Oh, do excuse me.”
She passed the food to him, and they ate in silence. He rose in a smooth movement then and began to repack with the speed and organization of a man long accustomed to camping out on the trail. He started out of the tipi with the saddlebags, but then paused.
“Douse the fire,” he said.
“Is that another order?” she demanded.
“If you wish.”
She flushed, her eyes falling. “As you say, Major!”
“I’m up for promotion, my love. It may get worse quite soon,” he said, laughing and leaving her behind.
Sabrina watched him go, then turned, carefully doused the fire, and collected the coffeepot and cups. She came outside, feeling somewhat contrite.
“Where should I wash these?”
“There’s a brook right back there,” he said, pointing toward it. “It’s high now with melted snow. Be careful.”
She nodded and walked toward the water.
It was frigid.
She rinsed the pot and the cups, then shivered as she scrubbed her face.
She dried her hands and face on her skirt, then turned for their eating utensils.
To her dismay, she realized that she hadn’t set them far enough from the water.
Somehow, as she had vigorously washed, she had pushed their cups back into the water.
And they were drifting far downstream.
Yet even as she watched the cups, she heard Sloan swearing. She jumped up, turned back, and saw that the tipi was on fire.
She came rushing back just as he snuffed out the last of it with one of the blankets.
He stared at her, arching a brow. She knew that he was wondering if she had caused the fire on purpose.
“I asked you to put out the flames—not to fan them.”
“I really thought that I had. Honestly.”
“Umm,” he grunted. “Are the cups clean?”
She shrugged. “Well, they are clean.”
He groaned aloud. “And where are they?”
“Just a bit downstream.”
She bit into her lower lip, trying not to flinch as he went striding past her. She opened her eyes and breathed more easily when she saw that he had gone after their belongings and wasn’t going to touch her.
He returned with the cups. His expression was darkly forbidding as he packed the last of their gear.
“I’m really sorry,” Sabrina offered somewhat nervously. “But I told you that I’d be horrible at this.”
“And I told you—you’re doing just fine at what really matters,” he said politely, controlling his temper. Then he lost control and shouted, “Dammit! Just get on your horse.”
At that particular moment, she didn’t have the inclination to argue.
She hurried toward Ginger. He came to her, ready to help her mount.
“It’s all right; I can manage.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
He lifted her atop Ginger despite her assertion. “Can’t take a chance of having you injured,” he said sharply, against her gasp of protest.
“Injured—”
“Broken. In any way. I mean, I need you functioning at what you’re so very good at!”
She stared down at him, an angry retort on her lips. He returned her stare, his eyes dark and fathomless, and she wasn’t sure if he was taunting her or if he was serious.
“You—you know that I can ride,” she said primly.
He smiled suddenly.
“Umm. At least that has been proven.”
He wasn’t talking about the horses. And she suddenly found herself losing control of her own temper once again. “I wish you would quit taunting me!”
His smile faded, and his eyes seemed to pierce right through her.
“What you wish, Sabrina, is that you had never married me. I can’t begin to understand you—or your argument against me.
You don’t want to be married to me, but you are.
And I am the man I am, and that’s not going to change.
I don’t know what new pranks you’re planning—”
“Pranks!”
“The fire, the dishes.”
“Those were accidents!”
“Perhaps. But I warn you, keep trying to prove what a poor wife you’ll make, and you will regret taunting me!”
“Oh, how dare you—”
“I dare because we are man and wife. And because you are going to get used to being married, and to all that being married to me means.”
“Would you get on your horse so that we can ride?” she demanded in return.
“Indeed; let’s ride.”
He mounted his horse. Sabrina nudged Ginger, breaking out in front of him. “Let’s ride. Indeed, he likes to ride! Where he’s been riding is surely in question, but—”
“I beg your pardon, my love?”
To her dismay, Sloan was right by her side. And he’d heard her words.
He arched a brow to her as he drew his horse right next to hers.
He was amused. He smiled and reached for her, pulling her against himself even as the horses plodded through the snow.
He placed a lingering kiss on her lips even as her heart thudded and she attempted to press him away, afraid that at any moment he was going to drag her from her mount, down into the snow.
But she didn’t fall, and she wasn’t dragged down. He broke away from her, steadying her as he did so.
“My love, trust me,” he told her with mock gravity, “it’s good to be back in the saddle again.”
“You and your double entendres! I’m going to hit you,” she informed him. “Right in the jaw. And I don’t care what you do in retaliation!”
But she never managed to carry out her threat. He laughed, and the minute she moved to swing, he caught her wrist—and balanced her back upon Ginger when she would have fallen due to the force of her own movement.
“Careful—that striking out is a bad—and dangerous!— habit. And hardly compatible with your promise to love, honor, and obey!”
“Major, you can take your promise and—”
“Can’t hear you out here, my love! The wind!” he said apologetically. Then he quickly nudged Thomas’s flanks. The horse reared slightly, then broke into a canter.
Ginger immediately broke into a lope behind him.
And despite herself, she discovered that—just like a good cavalry wife—she was racing along behind her husband.